This, I Did Not Choose

This, I did not choose,

though had someone offered,

this is the fruit I would have eaten.

You do not choose to fall,

only to make your home at the bottom

(the bottom being the top to the love sick,

the world being round, naturally).

What I do looks strange to those at the other pole,

lovers here understand me, though.

The top became the bottom,

the bottom the top.

Nonsense turned to poetry,

religion to a falsity,

and love became truth,

the only fucking absolute.

I did not choose him,

though if I could have I would have,

we chose each other I believe lifetimes and fucking eons ago.

If you don’t believe in reincarnation,

you haven’t met us.

He did not choose me,

but daily now we stay alive for this. We trust the hearts that have

betrayed us

every other time

and believe the eyes that have

fooled us

more than once before

and make promises with lips

that have lied

and hands

that have brought grief

but his fingerprints have been

branded into my skin,

I know he is true because I am true and we are

each other.

If I am wrong I’ll die.

You’ll see me but as a shell.

Luckily I can’t be wrong

this time.

This, I did not choose.

I believe it because

it chose me.